“The Darkroom”

There are pictures that I took and then pictures that were taken,
planted in my mind and easily mistaken.
The ones that I took I like to hide, and bury them deep for no one to find. But the ones the world gave me? That’s what I portray,

I leave them in the darkroom to develop and stay.
Pictures of that thin girl with long hair,
her skin clear & incredibly fair.
Pictures of that boy that wears designer clothes;
After a while these are the only pictures one knows.
While that dark room becomes cluttered, filled with pictures of what should be, another room is abandoned, the one with pictures I didn’t want to see.

But when I took new pictures, they never looked like the ones in the dark room; They were too blurry or too distorted for me to ever let bloom.
So, I kept taking the worlds’ pictures, letting them consume my brain;
I wouldn’t stop until my and those pictures became one and the same.

When there were just too many, and the room couldn’t hold anymore, all those pictures came spilling through the door.
They covered the pictures I took, & it was like they never mattered.

I began to forget my pictures, and replace them with the world’s standard.
That’s when I started to confuse the pictures I took with the ones that were given; all the worlds’ photos touching those that were meant to be hidden.
When I went to separate them I ran into a little trouble; I didn’t like what I saw in all the debris and rubble.
In those perfect girls and ideal guys, I saw nothing that particularly caught my eyes.
All those pictures the world had provided, along with the feelings of insecurity, had soon subsided.
When they were gone all that was left were the pictures I took,
And without the worlds’ pictures I was forced to take second look.
So my pictures were safe and never again lost,
Because there were no other pictures to corrupt my thoughts.
In the dark room my pictures developed, secure and free;
For that dark room was my self esteem, & those pictures were of me.